
*v»- 






I 



^:« 



WHAT I SAW AND SUFFERED 



REBEL PEISONS. 



DANIEL G. KELLEY, 

Late Sergeant Company K, Twenty-fourth New York Cavalry. 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

Major ANSON G. CHESTEK, 
N. Y. Military Agent, Buffalo. 




BUFFALO: 

PEZNTLNG HOUSE OF MATTHEWS & WAKBEN. 
1866. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by 

DANIEL G. KELLET, 

In the Clerk's OflSce of the District Court of the United States for the 
Northern District of New Yorl^. 






INTRODUCTION. 



In the fall of 1865, a young soldier, whose crippled 
condition was calculated to move the stoutest heart, was 
borne into my office, by the willing arms of two com- 
rades, for the purpose of seeking my advice in relation 
to a claim against the Government. 

This soldier proved to be Daxiel Geokge Kellet, 
of Aurora, Erie county, late a Sergeant in Company 
K, Twenty-fourth Regiment New York Cavalry Volun- 
teers. 

Entering into conversation with my visitor, I learned 
the appalling fact, that by reason of neglect, exposure 
and brutality, incident to a protracted incarceration in 
the notorious rebel prison at Andersonville, Sergeant 
Kelley had become totally pai*alyzed from the hips 
downward! leaving him as helpless as a new-born child. 

This interview took place but a short time previous 
to the trial and execution of Wurz, the keeper of that 
horrible den, where, for many months, during th.e late 
war, worse than inquisitorial cruelty and murder held 
high carnival. If any are disposed to question the jus- 
tice of his fate, let them read the simple but harrowing 



6 

story of one who, through his direct instrumentality, 
has received a permanent inheritance of helplessness and 
suffering. 

Sergeant Kelley went to the war in the heyday of 
youthful vigor ; he returned from it with the juices of 
more than half his physical organization dried up and 
destroyed forever. Providence has paid him in strange 
coin for his patriotism and prowess, but we may be sure 
that he Avill comprehend and extol the wisdom of this 
inscrutable dealing when " the books are opened." 

In the pages which follow, Sergeant Kelley has, mod- 
estly and meekly, recorded the history of his sufferings 
and his wrongs. I am sure that no words of mine are 
necessary to interest those into whose hands the volume 
may fall, in a recital which, even were it couched in far 
less attractive phrase, must inevitably win the sympa- 
thy and commiseration of every heart whose fibres are 
genuine. 

It is for us that this noble-souled young hero has en- 
dured a hopeless and everlasting martyrdom ; it is but 
right that from us should proceed his guerdons. May 
such be the reception of this volume, at the hands of the 
public, that he who has suffered grievously in the flesh 
may rejoice exceedingly in the spirit. 

ANSOX G. CHESTER. 
Buffalo, Nov. 1, 1866. 



WHAT I SAW AND SUFFERED 

IN REBEL PRISONS. 



How eventful liave been the last four years ! 
During that time, what changes have been 
wrought among the j^eople of the United States ! 
Thousands of our fellow-beings w^ho, four years 
ago, were with us, following their daily occujDa- 
tions, have since found graves in the Sunny 
South. 

Thousands lie buried in the same fields where 
they fought the enemies of liberty with courage 
and bravery never excelled, and scarcely equal- 
led in the world's history; and although they 
fell, they left a record of deeds which will throw 
around their names a halo of glory that shall 
endure as long as the name America shall deck 



tlie page, of liistory, or be remembered among 
tlie natioiis of tlie earth. 

Others, who fought with equal bravery, fell 
into the hands of the enemy, and then came a 
series of hardships, privations, exposures and 
starvations, which carried thousands from time 
into eternity. And now, around the prison pens 
of Andersonville, Salisbury, Millen, Belle Isle 
and numerous others, lie the forms of those who 
were once so dear to kindred hearts in their 
Northern homes. Now all is absent from those 
hearts save the recollections of the loved and lost. 
^Thousands have returned to their homes with 
broken constitutions, while in every town and 
village men may be seen with empty sleeves, or 
with only one limb, and each has a history. 

Many have returned to their homes and youth- 
ful associations, who will never more behold the 
companions of childhood, the green fields and 
beautiful flowers, the gay-plumed songsters or 
the forms of dear ones around the fireside. No; 
their tribute to their country has been the great- 
est of all sacrifices — the loss of sight. 

And there is one who, day after day, is an 
unseen spectator of the numerous students who 
pass his window on their way to and from the 



sclioolroom, where, less than three years since, 
he mingled with these same students, one of 
their number. But how everything has changed 
with him since then ! Now, instead of a merry 
schoolboy, he is an invalid, and has not walked 
for many months. 

Through the misfortunes of war, he was taken 
prisoner by the rebels, and during his prison 
life, suffered, in common with thousands of our 
Union soldiers, such treatment from the hands 
of the rebels as would cause the cheek of the 
savage to blush with shame, were he guilty of 
inflicting such treatment upon his prisoners. 

In the following pages will be given a faint 
idea of what it was to be a prisoner, but none, 
except those who have been kept starving by 
deo;rees for weeks and months, and felt the 
burning rays of a Southern sun pouring upon 
their unprotected heads, can form a just idea of 
the sufferings of our prisoners. 

When treason, dark, spread gloom o'er all the land, • 
The Ship of State, fast drifting toward the strand, 
Called loud for help to save her from the gale, 
To place her in the open sea, where she might safely 

sail. 
That call was heard on every hill and plain, 
Reached every ear in all our great domain. 



10 

It called for action; this the prompt reply: 
"Down with the traitor! raise our flag on high, 
Still let it be where first its folds were given, 
To wave so proudly in the light of heaven." 

When the call of 1861 came for men to rally 
to suppress the great rebellion which threatened 
to overthrow our free institutions and establish 
an empire having African Slavery as its chief 
corner-stone, men hastened from all parts of the 
country to sustain that banner which, nearly a 
century since, was adopted by our forefathers 
to rejDresent Liljerty, Union and the United 
States. 

Not only was the farmer called from the 
plough, the mechanic from the workshop, the 
merchant from the counter, and the lawyer from 
the client, but students in the halls of instruc- 
tion were animated by that love of country 
which is the safeguard of liberty. Nearly every 
school in the loyal States had its representatives 
on the field, and from our own small school, 
bearing the unassuming title "Aurora Academy," 
in one week nine volunteered to espouse the 
cause of the Union, " for better, for worse." 

On the 15th of October, 1861, with others 
from our school, I enlisted in the 100th New 



11 

York Infantry, then known as tke Eagle Bri- 
gade. In this regiment I served througk tke 
Peninsular campaign of 1862, until the army 
evacuated Harrison's Landing, when I was sent 
to David's Island, New York Harbor, at which 
place I was discharged on the 8th of September 
1862, upon surgeon's certificate of disability, 
having contracted malarious disease while on 
the Peninsula. When I enlisted, my weight 
was one hundred and sixty-five pounds, but 
when discharged I weighed but eighty pounds. 
Recovery was, at first, very slow, but after a 
few months I gained rapidly, and on the 12th 
of January, 1864, having been sixteen months 
out of the service, and considering my health 
perfectly recovered, I enlisted in Company K, 
24th New York Cavalry. 

When the grand Army of the Potomac moved 
forward in the Spring of 1864, my regiment 
was lyiug at Camp Stoneman, in the District of 
Columbia. We had been encamped here about 
two months, and had been occupying our time 
in drilling, ^preparatory to receiving our horses ; 
but on the 29th of April we were ordered to 
the front, dismounted. We were greatly disap- 
pointed at not receiving horses, but it is the 
1* 



12 

duty of soldiers to obey, and we acquiesced, 
altlioiio:li reluctant to 2:0 dismounted. We were 
assigned to tlie Provisional Brigade, First Di- 
vision, Ninth Army Corj^s, Major-General Burn- 
side commandino;. Tliis bri2:ade was composed 
of dismounted cavalry and heavy artillery, who 
were acting as infantry. Neither the cavalry 
nor artillery were well pleased with the idea of 
serving as infantry, and many were the jokes 
which passed between the two regiments. 

Once, after we had been marching, or, as the 
men called it, "packing sand," all day, one of 
the artillerymen called to the cavalry to know 
what had become of their horses. A Yankee 
cavalryman replied : "We have sent them to the 
rear to bring up your big guns." Artillery 
withdrew in silence. These constant jokes served 
to cheer the spirits of the men and make the 
time pass off pleasantly while on long marches. 

How long the road seemed from Washington 
to Richmond, by the way of Fairfax, Centreville, 
the old Bull Run battle ground, where might 
still be seen traces of that hard fought battle, 
the Rappahannock and Rapidan Rivers. What 
patience men required to march all day, then 
work nearly all night building breastworks, ly- 



13 

ing on the ground a sliort time to rest, and then 
leave their works in the morning. This is what 
wears on the soldier ; it is not the battles that 
he dreads, but the trials and fatigues of a long 
campaign. And it is an established fact, that 
those who fulfill the duties of the soldier while 
in camp and on the march without complaint, 
can be relied on in the day of battle. 

How grandly was the Sj^riug campaign of 
1864 opened by General Grant's army in the 
Wilderness. How many noble soldiers sealed 
the bond of duty, — and affection, too, — for their 
country, with their blood u]3on that ensanguined 
field, and how the dear ones at home eagerly 
watched the reports in the daily papers, to learn 
the fate of some relative or friend. That was 
indeed a hard fought battle. 

Down in the Wilderness fierce raged the battle, 

All the day long till the set of the sun ; 

Shouts of the men and the cannon's loud rattle 

Mingled together ere the victory was won. 

Hard Avas the fighting and fierce raged the contest, 

Charge after charge strewed the ground with the slain, 

Hundreds of brave men lay wounded and dying, 

And their life-blood, a crimson stream, covered the plain. 

Prayers in the Northland went up for those heroes 
Who fought for our flag in tlie Wilderness Avild ; 



14 

Wives prayed for their husbands, parents prayed for 

their sons, 
And the sire was remembered by the dutiful child. 
Maidens prayed for their lovers who battled for freedom, 
That heaven Avould guard and protect them from harm ; 
Ah, little they knew who should fall in the battle, 
Who the Angel of Death should bear ofl" in his arms. 

Brave men were made braver by thinking of loved ones, 
And they cheerfully answered the bugles shrill call ; 
They marched on to battle with firm step and steady. 
Resolved for the victory though many should fall. 
Never were braver men called forth to battle, 
Never were men more determined than they; 
Freedom their battle-cry, proud waved their banners high. 
And Liberty triumphed o'er treason that day. 

Ho, for the brave men who fell in that battle ; 

Long may their names in our memories live. 

May we, like they, when our country shall need us, 

Be ready, our very existence to give. 

Long may the stars in our banner shine brightly. 

Over the Union they fought to maintain. 

Cursed be the hand of the traitor that ever 

Is stretched forth to tear down that banner again. 

Never will those wlio sLared in tliose bat- 
tles forget tbe Wilderness, Spottsylvania Court 
House, and Nortli Anna River, wliicli stream 
we forded on the 2-4th of May, in the face of 
the enemy. 



15 

As we neared tlie river, each man placed his 
arms and ammunition on his shoulder to keep 
them dry. We did not cross at a regular ford, 
but the stream, a swift one, was breast deep, and 
about two hundred feet wide. ReachinG: the 
opposite shore, without stopping to wring the 
water from our clothes, we ascended the bank 
and formed in line of battle imder a heavy fire 
from the enemy. Then advancing our skirmish- 
ers, Ave commenced building breastworks. We 
lay here thirty-six hours, alternately building 
works and waitino; under arms to receive the 
enemy, and finally recrossed the river in the 
night, on a rude bridge which had been con- 
structed in the meantime, and which we de- 
troyed as soon as all the troops had j^assed over. 

When General Grant ordered the Army of the 
Potomac forward on the first of May, 1864, he 
also ordered that all mail communications with 
that army should be suspended, and not till the 
first of June did we receive any mail. On that 
day all the letters accumulated in Washington 
during the month of May for the army, were 
distributed to. the men. What a gala day was 
that for the boys ! Letters were carried to each 
regiment by the bushel, and each of the men 



16 

might have started a small post office on his own 
responsibility. Then came a demand for paper, 
envelops and stamj^s, which conld not be sup- 
plied ; for thirty days' march through rain and 
shine had destroyed nearly all such articles with 
which the men had suj^j^lied themselves. But 
those who had, divided witli those who had 
none ; leaves of blank books were brought into 
requisition ; and in less than twenty-four hours, 
thousands of men had sent messag-es to their 
Northern homes, to tell the anxious watchers 
that their prayers had been answered, that the 
loved ones were safe. 

Then came the 2d of June, that, to me, ever 
memorable day, when we engaged the enemy at 
Cold Harbor. How Avell I remember that after- 
noon, when we fought the enemy successfully 
until dark, and then, as night set in, I, with a 
detachment of our company, advanced to do 
picket duty in front of our regiment. About 
midnight a corporal of our company came down 
from the right and asked if I had seen Sergeant 
Pomeroy. He said the Colonel had sent him to 
recall Pomeroy, who had been sent out with ten 
men to reconnoitre. I told him I had not seen 
him, but he might ])e fm-ther down on the left ; 



17 

and the corporal moved on in search of the ser- 
geant's detachment. The night was very dark, 
and a short time after the corporal left us we 
could just discern a squad of men a few feet in 
our rear. Supposing he had found the object 
of his search, and that they were returning to 
the regiment, I stepped back and spoke to them. 
One of the men asked me what regiment mine 
was, and I replied : " Twenty-fourth New York 
Cavalry." Now, if you can imagine my surprise 
when he rejoined: "You are my prisoner! I 
belong to the Sixty-first Alabama Sharpshoot- 
ers." There were now ten to one, and resistance 
would have been foll}^ I was taken to the rear, 
and within thirty rods we passed at least five 
thousand rebels. 

I was taken before General Daniels, who com- 
manded a rebel brigade. He asked me to what 
corps I belonged, and if the Yankees were in 
force in fi'ont. I replied, that although a pris- 
oner, I was under no obligation to answer his 
questions. After he had asked a few more ques- 
tions, with the same success, he ordered me to 
be taken -to the provost guard, which proved to 
be about a mile in the rear. Here I found the 
corporal, who had been taken prisoner only a 



18 

few minutes before I was taken, and by the same 
squad. There was also another of our company, 
and many of our regiment ; also men of other 
regiments, — in all about two hundred men. 

Now arises the question, how came this squad 
of rebels in our rear ? — and it is answered thus : 
Each regiment picketed its own front, and the 
14th Heavy Artillery, which joined our regi- 
ment on the left, had removed to the rear (for 
some reason unknown to me) in the darkness, 
withdrawing their pickets at the same time. 
This left an open space where the rebels could 
come in at will, and thus gain the rear of our 
pickets; and once there, darkness prevented a 
distinction between them and the federal sol- 
diers. 

We spread out our shelter tents and lay down 
for the night, covering ourselves with our rub- 
ber blankets. But it began to rain, and we 
were obliged to rise or lie in the water. Of 
two evils we chose the least, and as the rain- con- 
tinued all night, we continued to sit around the 
fires, and morning found us in a sorry condition. 
Tired, hungry, and covered with mud; at five 
o'clock we were started under a heavy guard 
for Richmond. 



19 

Our guard, like all rebels, were very inquisi- 
tive, and invariably the first question was: 
" Who are you going to elect for your next Pres- 
ident ? " And invariably we replied, " Lincoln." 
Then came a series of long faces on the part of 
the rebels, and they positively asserted that if 
Lincoln were re-elected there would be four 
years more of war; that the South never would 
submit to the rule of an abolition President. 

This day the fight raged fearfully and it 
seemed as if the Union army held the entrance 
to Richmond. We were marched to the front 
and halted in a field where they had planted 
several batteries. Remaining here only a short 
time, we were taken to the rear, and the guards 
told us we were to be paroled. In fact they did 
not know what to do with us. We were kept 
marching and countermarching the entire day, 
and night found us tired and hungry, within 
half a mile of our starting point in the morning. 
We gathered sticks and built fires, and some 
who had a little coftee left from their former 
rations enjoyed that luxury, but the most of us 
had none, and, still fasting, we lay down for the 
night, hoping, in sleep, to forget our trials. 

Early next morning we were ordered into 



20 

line, aud our rul)ber blankets and shelter tents 
were taken from lis. This was a hard blow for 
US, for they constituted our Louse as well as bed, 
but still we were deprived of them, and without 
rations we were again started for Richmond, 
by the Mechanics ville pike, under a mounted 
guard. 

All along the road we saw wagons and carts 
loaded with furniture of all kinds, ready to run 
into Richmond, if Lee should be compelled to 
retreat. Long lines of ambulances, loaded with 
rebel wounded, were hurrying fi'om the front to 
the city, and load after load of corn bread was 
being taken from the city to Lee's army, but 
there ^vas not a crust for the Yankee prisoners. 

As we entered the fortifications of the city, we 
were met by a dozen or more negresses, who had 
baskets of j^ies, cakes and vegetables to sell. 
Enquiring the price of pies, one replied "only 
five dollars apiece in greenbacks, or, if you have 
no money, I will trade for your watch." At this 
friendly suggestion, I secretly slipped my watch 
cord out of sight, as it was altogether too con- 
spicuous for safety ; and although I had sixteen 
dollars in greenbacks, and had been nearly two 
days without food, I thought I should probably 



21 

be able to use it to a better advantao-e in tlie 

o 

future, so I did not purchase. 

As we marclied through the streets the women 
were very inquisitive, and evinced a strong 
desire to know where Grant was, and when he 
was coming to Richmond. The small boys 
showed their dislike for the Yankees by throw- 
ing stones at us ; and we, making a virtue of 
necessity, maintained a sullen silence, not even 
caring to speak to each other. 

A short march through the city brought us in 
front of Libby Prison. On one corner hung 
the sign as when it was used for commercial 
purposes : " Libby & Son, Grocers and Ship 
Chandlers." 

We were taken in the basement, where there 
were long rows of tables, which gave it the ap- 
pearance of a large soldiers' mess-room, and we 
thought there was a good prospect of getting 
something to eat. But the old adage, " There's 
many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip," seemed 
written especially for our benefit. Instead of 
receiving rations, a major of the rebel army came 
in and called for our money. He said that 
greenbacks were not alloAved to circulate in the 
South, consequently they would be of no use to 



22 

us ; and that an account would be kept of eacli 
man's money, and that it would all be restored 
to us when we were released. " But " he added, 
" all will be searched, and all that is found will 
be confiscated." 

Nearly all of us gave him our money, and our 
names, rank, company, regiment and State were 
registered in a book kept for that purpose. A 
few retained their money, but in nine cases out 
of ten it was found and no account of it given. 
Still they were as well off as the rest of us, for 
none of us ever had any returned. 

Our knapsacks, canteens and haversacks were 
also taken from us, leaving us entirely destitute 
of all things necessary for the comforts of a sol- 
dier's life. But we, feeling resentful, and being 
able to do nothing more, cut holes in our can- 
teens and tore up our haversacks, so that since 
we could not use them ourselves, they should 
be of no service to the rebels. One fellow, 
more unfortunate than the rest, was caught cut- 
tiug a hole in his canteen, and was " bucked 
and gagged " for three hours. 

As soon as the search was completed, we were 
taken to Pemberton Prison, which is nearly op- 
posite Libby, and a similar prison. It is three 



23 

stories "hio;]! above the basement, wMcli was 
used as guardroom. In the upper stories pris- 
oners were confined. The two higher stories 
were already filled, and we were quartered on 
the lower floor. 

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon, as, 
with sad hearts and weary feet we entered our 
prison and sat down on the floor to rest. It is 
now two days since we have tasted food, and 
we are in our captors' capital ; surely they might 
now give us something to eat. But no ; night 
closes over the scene, and, if you can, imagine 
our feelings as, — in an enemy's country, two 
days and nights without food, and during those 
two days continually on the march, — we lay 
down on the bare floor without blankets to pass 
the night. But slowly nature yielded to its 
"sweet restorer," and in sleep we soon forgot 
our hummer, and imasrined ourselves once more 
in the land of the free, once more under the 
Stars and Stripes, in the land of plenty. 

Next day, about noon, we drew rations. They 
consisted of about six ounces of corn bread, 
half a pint of bean soup, and one ounce of bacon. 
This was one man's allowance for twenty-four 
hours. The bread and soup were good enough, 



24 

but tlie quantity was so small that I ate my 
wliole day's allowance at once, and wished for 
more of all but the bacon ; but, considering the 
quality, I must say I had enough of that. Every 
day, when we drew rations, the men would eat 
their whole day's allowance, and then wait twen- 
ty-four hours for as much more. 

Our rations were cooked in a building in the 
rear of our prison, and we brought them uj) in 
large boxes and tubs. These we had to carry 
back to the cookhouse after distributing the con- 
tents. I helped to carry them l^ack the second 
day after our entrance, and in the street in fi'ont 
of the cookhouse seeing some crusts of corn 
bread that had been swept out with the dirt, I 
gladly picked them up and carried them back to 
prison with me, to satisfy the cravings of hunger. 
Others who had the opportunity did the same. 

The upper stories were reached by passing 
through the lower, consequently the prisoners 
could pass from one room to the others, but each 
must draw his rations in his own room. When 
the men in the upper stories who had been con- 
fined two or three weeks, came in our room, we 
could tell them by their complexion ; they were 
thin and pale, and were slowly starving. 



25 

Some of the windows were barred, others 
were left open ; and if any of the men went close 
to the open windows, they were shot by the 
guards below. 

Shortly after being taken prisoner, my hands 
and arms began to be inflamed, and by the time 
we reached Richmond, from my fingers ends 
to my elbows, were so swollen and inflamed as 
to be almost useless. I applied to the attending 
physician, and was told it was the result of 
handling poison oak, and that if I could bathe 
my arms with camphor it would cure them. I 
had in my possession a small bottle containing 
camphor gum, which I had brought from home. 
This he took, promising to fill the bottle with 
liquor and return it, but he never returned even 
the bottle. Instead of attending to the sick, as 
he was in duty bound to do, he occupied his 
time in smuggling biscuits past the guard and 
selling them to those who had money to buy. 
A small tea biscuit he would not sell for less 
than half a dollar. United States currency. 
Boots, shoes, and in fact all kinds of good cloth- 
ing, which the men had succeeded in keeping 
thus far, were traded to the guards for food. 

I had a gold pen and silver holder which I 



26 

proposed to trade to the sergeant of tlie guard 
for a loaf of corn bread ; but as soon as he got 
the pen in his possession, he turned and walked 
away, and that was the last I ever saw of pen, 
holder or sergeant. 

Not the least of our troubles was the filth, 
which, spite of all our efforts, would keep accu- 
mulating. It seemed as if the lice would de- 
vour us. At first we w^ere ashamed to be seen 
by each other while searching our clothes, but 
this, in our condition, was false modesty, and 
we soon learned to regard with an eye of suspi- 
cion all who did not, each day, search every 
part of their clothing. 

But we were not destined to remain long in 
Richmond, for on the morning of the 8th of 
June, sixty commissioned officers and eleven 
hundred non-commissioned officers and privates 
were taken to the railroad station, placed in 
freight and cattle cars, and started for Ander- 
sonville. 

What a change was this from the crowded 
dirty prison, to the pure open air. Instead of 
being afraid to approach a window, we could 
freely gaze upon the broad landscaj^e. Over 
rich meadows and through dense forests, the 



27 

ever varying scenes tlirougli wliicli we passed 
on our Southern journey AVi'ouglit a favorable 
cliange in the sj)irits of the men. 

We left Richmond on the morning of the 8th, 
and about midnight we reached Danville. We 
remained in the cars until morning, and this 
was no j^leasant task, for we were so closely 
crowded that it was impossible for us all to sit 
down at once, and as there were no seats in the 
cars, we had to sit on the floor. But at last morn- 
ing came, and with it an order to change cars. 

We suifered a great deal for water while go- 
ing from Richmond to Andersonville. We were 
seldom allowed to send for water, and then only 
two or three men from each car, and as we 
had nothing larger than quart cups, the quantity 
brought was small. At Danville, while going 
from one train to the other, we passed a beauti- 
ful spring of water. One of the men. Corporal 
George Riber, of Niagara Falls, asked a guard 
to let him step out and get a cup of water. The 
guard refnsed, and the Corporal said he was a 
mean man who would refuse another a drink of 
water. The guard, hearing this, struck him on 
the head with his musket, and he fell senseless 
to the ground. 



28 

Our rations were very small, one man could 
easily have eaten four men's rations. We traded 
with the guards for food as long as we had any- 
thing with which we could part. At one time 
I gave a gold pen, worth two dollars, for two 
hard crackers. At another time I gave a money 
belt, which cost three dollars, for three hard 
crackers. I still kept my Avatch and a gold 
hook and key which were attached to the cord, 
and I determined to keep them until I should 
be obliged to part with them. 

This day (the 9th,) we passed through Greens- 
borough and Salisbury, arriving at Charlotte 
just before dark. Here we were taken into a 
field to rest for the night. We drew two days' 
rations, consisting of six hard crackers and about 
four ounces of bacon for each man. I could 
have eaten my two days' rations at one meal, 
and then not had enough to satisfy my ap]3etite. 
Here I traded a j)ocket-book with one of the 
guards for two crackers. He seemed talkative, 
and asked me to sit down with two or three of 
them who were then off duty, and I accepted 
his invitation. In a friendly manner he de- 
scribed his home to me,' and in return I showed 
him some photographs. Two of my cousins he 



29 

greatly admired, and wislied to know if all 
Northern girls were as pretty. I told liim those 
two were ordinary, in fact very plain looking 
com23ared witli the majority of Northern girls. 
He thought our ladies must be very beautiful, 
far surpassing those of the South. When our 
tete-a-tete ended, he offered me a cup full of 
broken mouldy crackers, which I gladly accepted. 

About dark it commenced to rain, and we 
had no blankets nor tents, they having been 
taken from us before reaching Richmond. We 
could not get wood to build fires, so we gave 
up all hope of sleep for the night. But the 
rain proved only a shower, and being very tired, 
we laid down close together on the wet ground, 
and were soon in the land of dreams. 

Next morning we were again placed in cars 
and started on our journey. But we were worse 
off now than on the previous day. The car in 
which I rode contained a large quantity of ma- 
chinery besides ninety -five men. The sides were 
open, it being a cattle car, and the roof leaked 
so badly that it afforded us no shelter from the 
rain which poured down in torrents, and we 
were soon drenched to the skin. But "it's a 
long road that has no turning;" by the time 



30 

we reached Columbia, South Carolina, it had 
ceased raiuiug, and the sun sent forth its wel- 
come rays. Here, many of the inhabitants came 
to the station to see the Yankees. I heard one 
young lady say she hated us, but it was a dis- 
grace to the Southern Confederacy to treat men 
in such a manner. But we were not long to be 
blest vnih sunshine. While we were yet at the 
station it commenced to rain, and the crowd 
hastened to seek shelter. That night the train 
ran on a side track, and we lay all night in the 
wet cars. IS^ext morning we changed cars and 
started toward Auo;usta. 

Between Columbia and Orangeburg we passed 
a negro hut, in the door of which stood an old 
colored woman. As we came near she exhibited 
a small American flag. The boys, inspired by 
the sio-lit, 2:ave three times three rousino; cheers 
for Aunt Chloe and the Stars and Stripes. 

We reached Au2:usta on the 13th. Here I 
sold my watch, which in our lines was worth 
twenty-five dollars, for one hundred dollars, 
Confederate money. I kept the cord, hook and 
key, selling only the watch. I used twenty dol- 
lars to buy food before reaching Andersonville, 
— paying a dollar apiece for sweet potatoes, and 



31 

proportionate prices for other things ; and after 
we were placed in the stockade, I gave the re- 
maining eighty dollars for less than half a bushel 
of beans, but it was the best I could do. 

The 14th it rained nearly all day, and at night, 
while going up a grade, the train stopped, the 
engineer having allowed the fires to go out. 
To proceed further till morning was not to be 
thought of, so we were conpelled to lie still all 
night, but were not allowed to get out of the 
wet cars. At daylight we again started on our 
way to Andersonville. In fact, we longed to 
get there, for the guards told us that the stock- 
ade was well shaded by pines ; that there was 
a large beautiful creek running through it with 
plenty of fish ; and that we would have good 
tents, and receive rations in abundance. We 
were completely exhausted, and knew that when 
we reached our destination we could at least 
stretch ourselves on the ground and rest, a privi- 
lege which, with the exception of one night, had 
been denied us ever since we left Kichmond. 

On the afternoon of the 15th of Judc, we 
reached Andersonville, liaving been seven days 
and seven nights on the Avay, and in that time 
we had been out of the cars only one night, and 



32 

wMle passing from one train to another. Leav- 
ing tlie station we marclied to Captain Wurz' 
headquarters, about half a mile distant, where 
our names, rank, company, regiment and State 
were taken, and we were sent into the stockade. 

As we passed through the gate we were met 
by men of every regiment and State, who were 
anxious to see if any of their comrades were 
among the new comers. We marched up the 
main street of the prison in search of our camp- 
ing ground, but our search was fruitless. We 
were told that each must pick for himself; ac- 
cordingly we broke ranks and each started in 
search of a place to lie down. For half an hour 
my comrade and I searched, but in vain, for a 
place large enough to lie down. Everywhere 
the ground was taken, and we began to despair 
of a peaceful location, but at last laid down on 
a vacant spot about six feet square, and posi- 
tively refused to get ujd, claiming it as our 
home. 

The men were all divided into detachments 
of two hundi'ed and ninety men each, and each 
detachment was subdivided into squads of 
ninety, and messes of thirty men each. 

Each detachment had its number; ours was 



33 

eighty-one, there having been eighty detachments 
in the prison before we came. There was a ser- 
geant in charge of each detachment, whose duty 
it was to draw the rations from the rebel quar- 
ter-master, and divide them to the squads in his 
detachment. Each squad had a sergeant in 
charge, whose duty it was to get his men in line 
each morning for roll call, and divide the rations 
among the messes in his squad ; and each mess 
had a sergeant in charge to divide the rations 
among the men. Each squad had its number in 
the detachment, each mess had its number in 
the squad, and each man had his number in 
the mess. When we di'ew rations it was in 
the following manner: 

The sergeant of the detachment would take 
two or three men, and go near the gate where 
the rations were brought in, and as their num- 
ber was called by the quarter-master they would 
take their rations and carry them to the detach- 
ment. Then, as there were three squads in the 
detachment, the sergeant would divide the ra- 
tions as nearly as possible into three equal parts. 
Then one whose number was called would turn 
his back to the rations, and the sergeant would 
ask, "Who has this?" — and the squad whose 



34; 

number was called would take the part indi- 
cated. In tlie same manner they were divided 
to the messes, and the sergeant of the mess 
would divide them into thirty parts. Then one 
of the mess would turn his back to the rations, 
and as the sergeant pointed to a ration and 
asked, "Who has this?" he would call some 
number, and each man, knowing his number 
when it was called, would take his ration. 

Our rations generally consisted of about two 
ounces of bacon and one quart of corn meal. 
Sometimes we would get a little salt, but oftener 
we had none. The meal was dealt out in a cup, 
but the meat (and bread when we drew it) 
was always dealt out in the manner I have de- 
scribed. When we drew bread (which was in 
the j)lace of meal), our whole day's allowance 
would weigh from eight to fifteen ounces. 

Sometimes the meat was pretty good ; then 
again it would be unfit to eat. I remember 
once hearing: the sersreant of our detachment 
say, as he was trying to divide a rotten ham, " I 
would like to present this ham to President 
Lincoln, and tell him it was thirty men's rations 
of meat for one day, and then see if he would 
not soon cause us to be exchanged." He asked 



oO 



what lie should do with it, and the boys unani- 
mously replied, "Throw it over the dead line," 
and over it went. The inside of the ham had 
been eaten out by worms, and the remainder 
did not weigh over three or four pounds. 

Sometimes we drew beef instead of bacon, 
with only a pint of meal, and two or three 
spoonfuls of rice. At other times we drew 
about half a pint of beans, and a pint, instead of 
a quart, of meal. The beans required so much 
cooking that we were often obliged to eat them 
raw, and sometimes we w^ould parch them like 
corn. They were always worm-eaten and not fit 
for food, but we were obliged to eat them or 
starve. When we drew them cooked they had 
never been sorted, and were mixed with gravel, 
pods and all sorts of dirt, and were fi'equently 
sour when issued to us. We had to sort them 
and then wash out the gravel before eating. 

At eight each morning we had roll call. Each 
squad formed by themselves, and the rebel ser- 
geants came in and counted the men; and if 
there were one man missing, rations were with- 
held from the whole squad until he was ac- 
counted for. 

The stockade was built of hewn timbers 

2* 



36 

about ten inclies square. These were set about 
five feet iu the ground, side by side, and stood 
about fifteen feet high. The sentry boxes were 
built against the stockade on the outside, and 
were high enough that the men occupying 
them w^ould stand breast high with the top of 
the stockade. Inside, and about fifteen feet 
from the walls, was the dead-line, which was 
formed by driving posts in the ground, and 
nailing narrow boards on the top of them. 

In the west side of the stockade were two 
gates, called the north and south gates. The 
north gate was used when our rations were 
brought in. The other was used for sick call, 
and when the dead were carried out. 

Our rations were brouo-ht in in was-ons, and 
from them they were divided among the detach- 
ments by the rebel quarter-master. When the 
bread was unloaded there were always some 
crusts and crumbs remaining that had broken 
off from the loaves. These the men nearest the 
wagon would pick up, when they had a chance, 
and I have seen the rebel quarter-master kick 
men in the face for reaching in the wagon for 
bread when it was unloaded. 

From each gate was a street running nearly 



37 

across the prison. Tlie sutler's stand was erect- 
ed on the main street near the north gate, and 
the adjutant of the post acted as sutler of the 
prison. He brought in things and left them 
with two or three of the federal prisoners to be 
sold on commission. Flour was sold at one dol- 
lar a pound ; salt at one dollar a quart ; onions 
from twenty-five cents to one dollar and a half 
each, and everything else they had to sell, at 
proportionate rates. 

- Besides the head sutler there were numerous 
small stands, where things could be bought in 
small quantities. Those having a few dollars 
would buy a quantity of things of the head 
sutler, and sell them to the men in smaller 
quantities; for instance, salt at five to fifteen 
cents a spoonful, potatoes twenty to fifty cents 
each, and so on. 

Some who had enough money built large clay 
ovens, and buying flour at one hundred dollars 
a sack, baked it into biscuits and sold them at 
twenty-five to foi*ty cents each. 

But the reader must remember that money 
was very scarce, and that all the money the ma- 
jority of the prisoners had, they procured by 
selling their rations. A ration of meat (from 



38 

one to two ounces) would bring ten to twenty 
cents ; meal from ten to thirty cents a quart ; 
and corn bread from ten to twenty-five cents a 
ration, — said rations weigliing from five to fif- 
teen ounces. 

It may be thought strange that when we 
drew such small rations, any should sell instead 
of eating them. But some could not eat meat, 
or meal, and they preferred to sell them and 
buy something better, although a smaller quanti- 
ty. Others would not eat meat because they 
could sell it and buy a larger quantity of some- 
thing else. 

Every morning those having any thing to sell 
or exchange would repair to the main street 
near the sutler's stand, which we called the 
market. Here you might have heard men call- 
ing out : " Who'll trade meal for meat ? " — or 
" Who's got meat for beans ? " — or again, " Who 
wants to ])uy the wood ? " 

Wood was scarce as rations. For a time, 
when we drew raw rations, each detacliment 
was allowed, once a day, to send three men 
outside the stockade to get wood for the whole 
detachment. Think of it: ninety men being al- 
lowed only what wood one man could carry on his 



39 

back at one load, a distance of about forty rods, 
and this to cook tlieir rations for twenty-four 
liours, having raw meal furnished tliem to tlie 
amount of one quart each man, said meal being 
of the coarsest kind and frequently musty. 

A guard always accompanied the men who 
went for wood. While outside the prison, some 
of the men tried to escape, and for this, all were 
prohibited going out for wood. It was after- 
ward drawn into the stockade and we received 
one common cordwood stick of green pine each 
day for ninety men. At the same time there 
were thousands, I think I may with truth say 
millions, of cords of wood within a mile of the 
stockade. 

The brook entered the stockade from the west 
and ran through the centre of the prison. The 
water was of the poorest kind, being the surplus 
from the swamps above, and rendered still more 
filthy by carrying away the refuse of the cook- 
house, by which it passed before entering the 
prison. This brook in a great measure supplied 
the men with water. They went as near the 
stockade for it as they dared, for the nearer the 
stockade the purer the water. The dead line at 
this point was broken down, and it Avas a com- 



40 

mon occurrence for the guards to shoot among 
the men while getting water. 

There were a few wells, but they were dug by 
companies, and none but those who helped dig 
them were allowed to get water from them. 

There were also some springs near the brook, 
but these, like the wells, were owned by indi- 
viduals, and the prisoners at large were not al- 
lowed to get water from them. 

For some distance on each side of the brook 
the ground was low and swampy, and the filth 
collected here was beyond description. This 
low ground was the receptacle of all the filth 
and refuse of the camp, and more than an acre 
was covered with maggots to the dejjth of fif- 
teen or eighteen inches. Nor were they con- 
fined to the valley ; they were scattered all over 
the camp, and at night, before lying down, we 
would brush them away from the ground we 
were to lie on, only to wake in the morning and 
find them crawling under us and in our clothes. 

It was not an uncommon thing to see maggots 
crawling in the mouth and ears of living men. 
I saw one man who looked as if he had lain a 
week, dead on the battle field. The maggots 
were crawling in his mouth and ears, and he 



41 

was so emaciated tliat I do not think he could 
have weighed over fifty pounds. And there he 
lay in all his filth, unable to move or lift his 
hand to his head. Still he was a living man 
and a Union soldier. 

The stench arising from the low ground was 
ahnost unbearable, and nothing but the kind 
hand of an overruling Providence saved us from 
all being swept away by j)estileuce, such as yel- 
low fever, and other epidemic diseases of the 
warmer climates. 

When we entered the prison on the 15th of 
June, it contained about fifteen acres, on which 
were quartered above tw^enty thousand men, 
and still they were crowded in until some were 
obliged to lie on the low ground. Others be- 
came sick and being unable to walk far, chose 
to stay near the brook where they could get 
water to drink. Many, when they got so low, 
would have no ap^ietite for the coarse, poor food 
we received, and would go to the valley to drink 
and die. I have known men to lie there three 
days without tasting food, and then die without 
a friend to close their eyes or take a message to 
their homes. 'Tis sad to see one's friends die thus, 
and have no means to relieve their sufferings. 



42 

As an illustration, I will give you an account 
of one or two with whom I was intimately con- 
nected. 

There was a man in Company C of our regi- 
ment, by the name of John B. Williams, who 
was also taken prisoner on the night of the 2d 
of June. He was a resident of the tovna. of 
Golden in this (Erie) county. At the time of 
his capture, he was a strong hearty man, but 
having neither blanket nor shelter, and being 
constantly exposed to the sun and rain, wore 
heavily on his constitution. His feet became 
swollen and his form wasted to a mere skeleton. 

At last I lost sight of him, and did not see 
him for two days. Becoming alarmed about 
his absence, I went to look for him, and found 
him in the valley, by the brook, unable to walk 
or stand alone, so I procured assistance and took 
him back to his detachment. During the two 
days of his absence he had not tasted food. I 
found him on the 24tli of August, and from 
that time till his death I took care of him. 

The 25th and 26th of August were extremely 
hot, and he lay with a burning fever, exposed 
to the sun and unable to move, only as I helped 
him. He had no aj)petite, and not till I 



43 

strongly urged liim, would lie eat a little poor 
corn bread, wLieli was the best I had, or could 
procure for him. 

How many times during those two long days 
did I pour cold water on his fevered brow, and 
give him of the same to drink. How inany 
times, during those two long days of countless 
suffering, did he speak of home and loved ones. 
Of the father who had guided him with gentle 
hand, instructing him in the ways of honor, in- 
tegrity and manhood ; of the mother who had 
early taught him to remember his Creator in the 
days of his youth ; of the kind loving woman 
he had chosen to be the companion of his life, 
and the childish prattle of the little one he 
should never more behold. Yes, it was sad to 
stand by the side of him whose life was thus 
passing away in a rebel prison, far from all that 
he held dear on earth, and hear him speak of 
loved ones and the comforts of home, and be 
able to administer no relief for his sufferings. 
But they were destined to be of short duration, 
for, on the morning of the 27th of August, he 
expired, after giving me messages to carry to 
his kindred. 

I will refer you to one more instance, and 



44 

this, with the one already given, will closely ap- 
ply to thousands of soldiers who died in South- 
ern prisons. 

This description was given to the public on 
the 19th of August, 1865, under the title of 



THE DYING SOLDIER IN ANDERSONVILLE. 

It was in the month of August, and the sun was shining 

warm, 
I stood beside a dying man, whose heart with grief was 

torn ; 
He had battled for the Union, and he fought with right 

good Avill, 
But now we saw him dying in that hell, Andersonville. 

He was a right good soldier, and from Massachusetts 
hailed. 

Shared in many a hard-fought battle, but his sj^irit never 
quailed ; 

But the flxtes had turned against him and he now is 
lying still. 

And death lias called another from that hell, Anderson- 
ville. 



Six long months he lay in prison, always hoping to be 

free. 
To once more behold the Stars and Stripes, the flag of 

liberty ; 



45 

But that dear, beloved banner behold he never will, 
For by traitors he is murdered in their vile Anderson- 
viile. 



Just one week before his spirit fled, he called me to his 

side. 
And he said: "I left beloved ones around our fireside; 
But I never more shall see them, for I feel death, damp 

and chill. 
Is stealing o'er my senses in this hell, Andersonville. 



"I would have you take a token, if you ever should get 

free. 
To the friends who oft are thinking, and are watching 

oft for me. 
Would to God I now could see them, I could bow to 

Heaven's will. 
And be reconciled, although I die in vile Andersonville. 



"Take this portrait from my pocket; 'tis a sister near 

and dear; 
And now, comrade, from my hollow cheek, brush of that 

scalding tear. 
Tell my sister, as I thought of her, the tears my eyes did 

fill, 
And I blest her as I dying lay in cursed Andersonville. 



"Tell my father that I long had hoped to be once more 

at home ; 
That when the war was over I never more would roam. 



46 

But my pi'osjDects all are blighted, and death will my 

measure fill, 
And I'll find a peaceful resting-i^lace, though 'tis Ander- 

sonville. 



" Tell my mother I remember how, when I was but a 

child, 
I knelt beside her knee to pray, and she sweetly on me 

smiled. 
How she taught me pure and precious truths about 

God's holy will. 
And they cheer my soul while dying in this hell, Ander- 

sonville. 



"Comrade, I shall never see them; but remember, when 

I'm gone. 
The messages I've told you to carry to my home. 
Break it gently to the loved ones, for their hearts with 

grief will fill, 
When they know how I have perished in vile Anderson- 

ville." 



I watched the suffering soldier; day by day he paler 

grew, 
Exposed to every burning sun, and every night's damp 

dew. 
His suffering and his anguish no human tongue can tell, — 
The sufferings of the soldier who died at Andersonville. 



Just three days before his spirit left its tenement of clay, 
I heard him call his mother; his mind roamed far away. 



47 

He seemed once more to gaze upon the brooklet and the 

rill,— 
The scenes of childhood's happy hours, and not Ander- 
sonville. 

Three long days and nights his spirit dwelt amid his 

childhood's scenes, 
Father, Mother and his Agnes oft were mentioned in 

his dreams ; 
But at last the spell is broken, and the death-dew, damp 

and chill. 
Spreads o'er the soldier's features, and he leaves Ander- 

sonville. 

Thus lie j)erislied; tlius not only he, but 
thousands of our noble soldiers fell, victims of 
the cruelty of those who had command of our 
prison. 

Since my return to our lines, I have redeemed 
my promise by writing to his father, and send- 
ing the portrait entrusted to my care. 

He had a comrade also without a blanket, 
and frequently during the month of July they 
would take off their blouses and hang them 
over sticks to keep the sun off their heads. 
There they would lie for hours together, with 
their heads in the shade and their bodies in the 
sun. But both died, one on the 2d of August, 
the other on the 12th of September. 



48 

The prisoners came in so fast during the lat- 
ter part of June, that they were obliged to en- 
large the stockade. This was done by building 
an addition on the north side, and on the 1st of 
July both prisons were opened into one by tear- 
ina; down the north side of the old stockade. 
This added some ten or twelve acres to the 
prison. In the new stockade there was a con- 
siderable quantity of timber, which gave us a 
good supply of wood for some time. After this 
was gone, we dug up the stumps to cook our 
rations ; and when the stumps had disappeared, 
we received no other wood, besides our rations, 
than that we brought from the outside when 
we carried out the dead. 

The dead were all carried to the south gate 
early in the morning ; at nine o'clock the gates 
were opened, and four prisoners were allowed 
to go out, under guard, with each dead man. 
Those nearest the gate were taken first, and to 
prevent confusion, they were laid side by side, 
with their heads to the south, reaching back 
toward the centre of the prison. I think I have 
seen fifty, and sometimes more, lying thus, side 
by side, ready to be carried out. 

There was a general desire on the part of the 



49 

living to get a chance to carry out the dead, for 
they were allowed to bring back an armful of 
wood, of which there was a good supply on the 
outside, near the gate. When a man was being 
carried toward the gate, a common expression 
among the prisoners was : " There goes another 
dead man to be traded off for wood." But had 
it not been for the fuel obtained in this way, 
we should often have been obliged to eat our 
rations raw. Some who were to weak to carry 
back a heavy load, sold their chances to go out 
to those who were strong. The price paid was 
from fifty cents to one dollar, and the wood 
which one man could carry back was worth from 
one to two dollars. Some whose clothing was 
very poor went to the gate and exchanged, tak- 
ing clothing from the dead and replacing it with 
their own. 

When I was taken prisoner, my clothing con- 
sisted of two cotton shirts, two pairs of socks, 
an old pair of pantaloons, an old blouse and a 
cap. My comrade's clothing was no better than 
mine, with the exception of an overcoat which 
he purchased of one of the prisoners before 
reaching Andersonville. 

From the 15th of June until the 4th of July, 



50 

it rained every day, sometimes all night, and we 
liad no shelter of any kind ; but on tlie 4tli of 
July my comrade gave his overcoat and I gave 
one of my shirts, and the hook I kept when I 
sold my watch, for a blanket. We next traded 
some rations for three poles, each about ten feet 
long ; then by inserting both ends of the poles 
in the ground, and fastening on our blanket 
with some wooden pins, we formed our tent. 
This served to jjrotect us from the sun and rain, 
and although Ave were obliged to lie on the 
ground, we could not complain, for we were 
better off than thousands of others, — for thou- 
sands there were who had no blankets or shelter 
of any kind to protect them from the sun by 
day or the damp dews by night. Can it l^e 
wondered at, then, that so many of the men 
fell an easy prey to disease and death ? 

Troubles, it is said, never come singl}^, and 
this proved true in our case. Confinement and 
suffering were attended with a demoralizing ef- 
fect upon the men. Stealing and fighting were 
of common occurrence, and quite a num])er of 
murders were committed. About sixty of the 
most abandoned characters had organized a 
gang to plunder the men of all they possessed 



51 

whicli was of value. Money, watches and blank- 
ets, which the men had succeeded in keeping 
from the rebels, were taken from them by this 
gang. If they were refused, knives and clubs 
were freely used to enforce their demands, and 
frequently men lost their lives by endeavoring 
to resist the raiders, and retain their own prop- 
erty. 

One night they surrounded some men belong- 
ing to our regiment, and searched them. Not 
finding anything more valuable, they took their 
cups and a razor and razor-strop. A few days 
after they were robbed, the man owning the 
razor, saw one of the men sharpening it on the 
strop that had been stolen from him, but had 
no power to regain them. 

Finally we organized a police force sufficiently 
strong to arrest and punish any who should in- 
fringe upon the rights of their fellow-prisoners. 
Twenty-four were arrested and tried by a jury 
composed of twelve sergeants. Six of the twen- 
ty-four were found guilty of murder, and sen- 
tenced to be hung, which sentence was put in 
execution on the 11th of July. 

The scaifold was erected near the south gate, 
on the hillside, and the execution was witnessed 
3 



52 

by about tweuty-five tliousand. prisoners. The 
sentry boxes were also crowded witli spectators 
from tlie outside. 

As soon as the scaffold was completed, the 
police cleared the path to the gate, and the 
criminals soon appeared, each having his arms 
pinioned and walking between two men who 
were the executioners. As they approached 
the stand, one of the criminals broke from his 
guard, and, rushing through the crowd, ran 
across the valley and jumped over the dead-line, 
closely pursued by his guard. The sentries did 
not shoot him, but his guard was allowed to go 
and take him. He was taken back, and with 
the others ascended the platform. 

After they had taken their stand by the ropes, 
they were each allowed to speak a few words. 
They asked the boys to pray for them, and 
begged in vain for the mercy they had refused 
to show to their innocent victims. After they 
had finished speaking, they were each given a 
drink of water, then the ropes and caps were 
adjusted, and the executioners descended from 
the platform. All the criminals, except one, 
now stooped, that the fall might be as light as 
possible; but the other stood erect, and when 



63 

the prop was witlidrawn and the platform fell, 
he broke his rope and fell to the ground. He 
now begged, but in vain, for pardon; the rope 
was re-adjusted, and he was placed by the side 
of his companions in crime. 

Some may think the prisoners did wrong in 
hanging these men ; but what were we to do ? 
They were given a fair trial, and found guilty 
of murder; and as long as the guilty were al- 
lowed to go unpunished, the innocent must 
suffer at their hands. But this proved a warn- 
ing to others. I do not think there was another 
murder committed, and stealing was of rare oc- 
currence. 

Many of the men dug tunnels, hoping thus to 
escape ; but in nearly every instance the tunnels 
were found by the rebels before they were com- 
pleted. If any could have been successful 
enough to gain the outside of the stockade, 
there were nine chances of their being caught 
to one of escape; for twice each day, the camp 
was circled by bloodhounds to see if any of the 
prisoners had escaped, and if the hounds found 
a track, they pui'sued it until it was lost, or the 
prisoner re-captured. 

Often tunnels were reported by prisoners who 



54 

hoped to obtain favors hj joining witli the 
rebels ; and they were generally rewarded by 
being detailed outside of the stockade as nurses, 
cooks and waiters. 

In the latter part of August some Union 
Tennessee soldiers in my detachment commenced 
digging a tunnel. They started it in their tent, 
which was composed of one blanket for four 
men. They worked at it nights, and during the 
day covered it with their coats to conceal it 
from view. 

About nine o'clock at night, one man would 
crawl in the tunnel, dig the clay loose with a 
knife, and draw it to the mouth of the tunnel 
with his hands and arms. Then those on the 
outside would put it in a piece of canvas, carry 
it to the valley and throw it in the brook; for 
if they left it near their tent it would lead to 
the discovery of the tunnel. 

They worked in this way, night after night, 
until they reached the stockade. It was neces- 
sary, now, to dig some twenty feet further, to 
avoid the outside line of guards ; and they ex- 
pected to get out in two or three nights more, 
when a prisoner belonging to an Indiana regi- 
ment, reported the tunnel to the rebel quarter- 



master, who acted as tunuel-liunter. He gave 
Indiana half a plug of tobacco for his informa- 
tion, and set some slaves at work, filling up the 
tunnel. 

Indiana, fearing he would be justly punished 
by the enraged Tennesseans, begged hard to be 
detailed outside of the stockade, but was re- 
fused, and as soon as the quarter-master was out 
of sight, they caught him, shaved his head, and 
gave him a sound thrashing. Then, not being 
fully satisfied, and ^vishing to serve him more 
like God did Cain, they marked a large letter 
T (signifying traitor) on his forehead, with in- 
delible ink. They then led him all through the 
camp, telling what he had done, and the signifi- 
cation of the mark on his forehead. 

Next day, Captain Wirz sent a file of guards 
into the stockade for twenty men of our detach- 
ment. I was one of the number. We were 
taken outside of the gate, where we were told 
by Captain Wirz that if we punished Indiana 
any more, he would hang six of the best men of 
our detachment. Had it not been for this, I 
think the Tennesseans would have killed the 
traitor who thwarted their prospects of escape. 

In August my back began to be lame, and by 



56 

the first of September it was go bad that I could 
hardly stand on my feet. Frequently, after ly- 
ing all night, I would be half an hour in getting 
on my feet ; and then it was with the greatest 
difficulty that I could stand or walk ; but after 
I had been on my feet a short time, the pain 
partly left me, and I exerted myself as much as 
possible, for I knew that if I gave up I should 
die, — for others who were no better than myself 
were dying all around me. 

I had a package of letters and photographs, 
but I scarcely ever looked at them. I strove to 
forget the past : to forget that I had a home, 
that I had a friend, and that I was a prisoner. 
But the recollection of these would fill my mind, 
spite of all my eiforts to crush them. And 
when I thought of home and plenty, of the 
friends who were anxiously watching for a word 
from me, and of the comrades who must battle 
on without me, the minutes seemed like hours, 
and the days like months. I would have given 
my life for a year of liberty; 1 would have 
made any sacrifice to have been once more free. 
But we could do nothing toward our liberation. 
We were, to the number of thirty thousand, 
shut U2> on twenty-seven acres of land, and be- 



57 

neath tlie whole broad canopy of heaven there 
was no other spot for us to rest upon. Of the 
millions of acres of noble forests, there was not 
a single shrub to throw its shadows over and 
protect us from the scorching rays of the sun. 
Notwithstanding the vast quantities of wood 
within a short distance of the stockade, we were 
frequently obliged to eat our scanty allowance 
of meal or beans raw, for want of fuel. And of 
all the inhabitants of the far-famed hospitable 
South, not one came to administer to our neces- 
sities, or speak a word of encouragement to the 
perishing thousands of their fellow-beings. 

How many nights have I lain upon the bare 
ground, with my face upturned, and watched 
the moon and the stars as they shone down 
upon us, thinking of scenes which had passed 
away, alas, never more to return. How many 
nights have I lain thus for hours together, think- 
ing of home and other days, until, worn out by 
my thoughts and the gnawing hunger, I have 
dropped to sleep and dreamed of a happy home 
in the Empire State, and saw myself once more 
a member of a happy circle. Often have I 
dreamed of sitting: at a well-filled table, and 
satisfying my hunger with the choicest viands, 



58 

when suddenly tlie vision would vanish, and I 
would wake to hear the rude voice of the sentry 
as he cried the hour from his post, or the shrill 
report of the rifle and the whizzing of the ball 
as it sped on its errand of death, summoning 
some unhappy prisoner, who had crossed the 
dead-line, to his eternal home. Then how I 
have wished for the morning. 

And the prisoner, sad and weary, tired of waiting for 
the day, — 

Tired of waiting for the sun to come and drive the night 
away, — 

Tired of waiting for the day to come when prison life 
should cease, 

Tired of waiting for the day that should proclaim a glori- 
ous peace, 

Arose, forlorn and weary, and with a deep-drawn sigh. 

Cried, despairing, "God of heaven! must I in this pris- 
on die?" 

And all the response the prisoner heard ^vas the 
feeble groan of a dying comrade, or the mourn- 
ful sound of the night-wind as it sung a requiem 
for the de2:)artiug spirit. 

There were a great many 2:)rofessors of religion 
among the prisoners ; meetings were held in dif- 
ferent parts of the prison every Sunday, and 
evening meetings were often held during the 



59 

week. On these occasions, those taking part in 
the meetings were subjected to many insults 
from the guards. The foulest language and 
the vilest oaths were made use of by tlie guards 
to break up the meetings. On one occasion the 
prisoners had been ordered to break up the 
meeting and disperse, but the meeting was con- 
tinued ; the guard repeated, with an oath, that if 
they did not disperse he would fire among them. 
The prisoners, knowing that he would execute 
his threat if his command was not obeyed, 
closed the meeting. 

Tuesday, July 19th, rebel papers stated that 
Sherman's cavalry had started on a raid, and 
that they probably intended going to Anderson- 
ville. The same evening, a train loaded with 
women and children who had fled from Atlanta, 
arrived at the station. They encamped in the 
vicinity, and remained there several days. 

On the 20th, Sherman's cavalry were reported 
to be within sixty miles of Andersonville, and 
the rebels commenced fortifying the place, in 
anticipation of an attack. Earthworks were 
speedily thrown up on all sides of the house (a 
small one, partly of logs and partly frame) 
which was occupied by Captain Wirz, for head- 



60 

quarters. In tlie evening anotlier train-load of 
refugees arrived from Atlanta. 

Thursday, tlie 21st, tlie rebels worked hard 
all day on tlieir fortifications, and in the after- 
noon reinforcements arrived from Macon. 

Saturday, the 23d, the rebels told us that the 
Commissioners of Exchange had agreed to ex- 
change all the prisoners then at Andersonville. 
This was a ruse resorted to by the rebels to 
keep us contented while they were building 
fortifications. 

Friday, the 29th, the rebels raised a line of 
white flags through the prison from north to 
south, a short distance from the west side of the 
stockade, and told us that if we collected in 
groups of more than one hundred men between 
the flags and the gates, they would shell the 
prison. On the follomng day a few prisoners 
came in wlio said they were captured six miles 
soutli of Atlanta. 

On Monday the first of August, the priest 
came in the prison, and said he was sent by 
General Winder to inform us that the Com- 
missioners had met and agreed uj^on an immedi- 
ate exchange. 

Tuesday, the 2d, four hundred and fifty pris- 



61 

oners came in. They said they belonged to 
Kilpatrick's cavalry, and were captured six miles 
south of Macon, while on a raid to Anderson ville 
to release us. Poor fellows ! How we pitied 
them for coming as j)risoners, and how sorry we 
felt that they did not succeed in releasing its. 
On the next day, new prisoners reported General 
Stoneman captured. 

On the 7th, the rebel quarter-master went to 
every detachment and told that General Win- 
der had received orders to parole all the pris- 
oners at Andersonville, and send them to the 
federal lines as fast as transportation could be 
furnished. He said we would commence to go 
the next day. But the next day, and the next, 
came, and still we were confined as closely as 
ever. 

Tuesday afternoon, August 9th, it rained very 
hard, and in four places the timbers of the 
stockade fell, in consequence of the earth which 
supported them being washed away. 

Double lines of guards were immediately 
placed on the outside of the stockade where the 
timbers had fallen; the soldiers not on duty 
were formed in line of battle ; every man took 
his place at the guns on the fortifications, which 



G2 

commanded tlie prison at sliort range, and two 
or three shells were fired over the stockade, to 
warn us against attempting to escape. 

On the 10th of August, the rebels commenced 
furnishing lumber for sheds. They were framed 
outside of the stockade, and when brought in 
were ready to be put together. Four sheds 
were finished, and the frame of the fifth was 
erected, but not finished before I left the prison. 
They were each about fifty feet long, twenty 
feet wide and twelve feet high. They contained 
two floors; one near the ground, and the second 
about five feet above the first. Each of the 
floors was divided into bunks, — each bunk be- 
ing about six feet square, and occupied by four 
men. They were covered by a board roof, and 
the sides were left ojDen. These sheds were oc- 
cuj)ied by the men Avho built them, until the 
rebels commenced removing the prisoners from 
Andersonville. 

Tuesday, August 16th, the rebels took pic- 
tures of the camp from difterent sentry-boxes; 
the photographer occupying the sentry-box and 
setting his camera on a log of the stockade. 
The same night a train loaded with soldiers 
passed by the prison. As they neared the sta- 



tion tliey gave dieer after clieer, and fired several 
volleys. They were probably state militia, on 
their way to Atlanta to reiuforce Johnson, and 
thought to frighten the prisoners by the firing. 
But let their thoughts have been what they 
might, the familiar sound sent a thrill of joy to 
the heart of every prisoner within tlie stockade, 
for we cauo^ht at the idea that Sherman's raiders 
might be near to release us; but in tliis we 
were disappointed. 

Among other things, camp reports did a great 
deal to keep up the spirits of the men. Rumors 
of parole and exchange were in constant circula- 
tion, and although most of them were without 
truthful foundation, tliey kept us from getting 
discouraged. Often was the day of exchange 
fixed upon bv the men, but as often were we 
disappointed. 

Finally, on the evening of the 6tli of Septem-- 
ber, the rebel sergeants who called the roll came 
into the prison and ordered eighteen detachments 
to be ready to leave the next morning. The 
news quickly spread through the camp, and 
soon all was commotion. The sergeants had not 
told them where they were to go, l>ut report 
said for parole or exchange. Some said we had 



64 

been lied to so often they did not believe any 
of tlie prisoners were to go ; but on tlie next 
morning, September Tth, a long line of men left 
tlie liospital for tlie station, and five detach- 
ments were taken out of tlie stockade. The 
manner of removing the prisoners from the stock- 
ade to the station was as follows : 

Two lines of guards were placed fi'om the 
south gate of the stockade to the station, which 
was half a mile distant, between which the pris- 
oners were obliged to pass. At the gates the 
prisoners were counted by the officers, and taken 
out in squads of sixty men each. From the 
northern hill, we who were in the prison could 
plainly see those on the outside. We could see 
each squad halt in front of General Winder's 
headquarters, where they remained two or three 
minutes, and then passed on to the station. In 
the evening, every detachment in the prison re- 
ceived notice to be ready to leave at a moment's 
notice. At five P. M., of the 13th, our detach- 
ment was ordered to pack uj) and go to the 
gate. It was a short job to pack, and fifteen 
minutes after receiving orders, we were waiting 
at the gate. 

On that night a train loaded A\"ith prisoners 



65 

ran off the track about four miles from Ancler- 
sonville. Seven or eight men were killed, and 
some damage was done to the track. Next day 
the prisoners were sent back into the stockade. 

When the prisoners commenced leaving An- 
dersonville, the sheds were taken for a hospital ; 
and before each detachment left the prison, all 
the men belonging to it who were not able to 
walk to the station were taken to the sheds and 
left in the care of some men who Avere detailed 
as nurses. The sheds were all filled to over- 
flowing, and many who could not get in them 
lay on the ground outside. Their rations gen- 
erally consisted of a small quantity of poor mo- 
lasses and dirty rice, half-cooked and frequently 
sour. 

The men were in the worst possible condition. 
Pen can never describe, nor painter portray the 
scenes there presented. Imagine a thousand 
forms, the wrecks of former manhood, strength 
and nobleness, some in sheds, and others on the 
ground near by, all suffering from disease, and 
many of them unable to leave the spot they lie 
on, in the most filthy condition, and all eagerly 
watching for their scanty allowance of poor mo- 
lasses and half-cooked rice. 



How many men have died simply because 
they lacked the commonest necessaries of life. 
How many men have starved to death because 
they could not eat the rubbish which the rebels 
furnished us for food. 

At the sheds the men died so fast that the 
nurses had not time to carry them to the dead- 
house, and a squad of policemen was detailed 
each day to carry the bodies from the sheds to 
the dead-house outside the stockade. 

How eagerly those perishing men caught at 
every rumor of parole and exchange. How they 
watched and waited for Sherman to come and 
open their prison doors, and take them back to 
the land of lil^erty. But how were they disap- 
pointed ! 

Think you, that you who have always enjoyed 
the blessed light of liberty, who have never 
known what it is to be pinched by hunger for 
weeks and months, can form a just estimate of 
the sufferings of these men, both in mind and 
body ? Do you know with what anxiety they 
watched and waited for the Government which 
they had fought for, and which had pledged 
them protection in case of misfortune, to release 
them from bondage which was worse than death, 



67 

and wliicli was daily carrying scores of tlaeir num- 
ber from time into eternity ? Can you wonder 
at or blame tliem for sometimes upbraiding that 
Government for leaving tliem to die by hun- 
dreds, — aye, and thousands, when it had the pow- 
er to release them ? I cannot blame them, nor 
can I uphold the Government in the policy ])ur- 
sued in relation to an exchange of prisoners. 

Was it a sufficient reason for not exchanging, 
that the confederate soldiers were able to take 
the field, while the Union soldiers ^vho were 
confined in the South were in feeble health, 
most of them with ruined constitutions, and 
many of them near the end of their earthly ca- 
reer? Did the fact that they were unable to 
take the field, relieve the Government from a 
sinofle oblio:ation to them ? I think not. I think 
the Government was under as much oblio-ation 
to protect the soldier, as the soldier to protect 
the Government, and that when the United 
States officials left so many thousands of the na- 
tion's protectors to j)erish with hunger, having 
the power to redeem them honorably, they com- 
mitted a national sin, surpassed by none, and 
equalled only by African slavery. 

Thursday, September 15th, we drew no ra- 



68 

tions. In the afternoon confederate officers went 
to tlie slieds and told tlie sick tliat all wlio 
could get to tlie station would be sent to the 
federal lines. At this, all who could walk, and 
many who could only crawl, started for the 
gate. Five hundred were taken out in the iirst 
squad, and it was enough to wring tears of sym- 
pathy from a heart of adamant to see them on 
their way to the station ; and, accustomed as the 
prisoners were to scenes of suffering and distress, 
tears streamed down the cheeks of many as they 
beheld men who were themselves scarcely able 
to stand, trying to assist comrades who were 
still weaker, to the station, or some who were 
unable to walk, endeavoring to crawl a distance 
of half a mile — the promise of liberty being their 
incentive to go forward, death in prison their 
doom if they remained. 

On ari'iving at the station, this squad was im- 
mediately placed in the cars, and started toward 
Macon, when the officers came back and took 
out another squad of eight hundred men. In 
this squad men were taken from the detachments 
as well as from the sheds, and I was one of the 
number. At this time I was bare-footed, my 
boots having been worn out when I was taken 



69 

prisoner. One pair of the socks I had when 
captured I sold while in Andersonville, for ra- 
tions, and the others I had w^orn out. My lower 
limbs were partially paralyzed, and it was with 
the greatest difficulty that I could walk. My 
back was very lame, and my teeth all loose from 
the effects of scurvy, however I managed to get 
to the station wdth the others. 

We lay on the grass all night, exjjecting a 
train to come for us, but none came. A short 
distance from where we lay was a small stock- 
ade, which was used for the confinement of rebel 
offenders; and judging by the noise, there was 
a goodly number of them. All night they kept 
up a disturbance, hooting like owls, cursing the 
Yankees, or tantalizing their guards. 

At eight o'clock next morning, as was cus- 
tomary, a number of women came to the station 
with pastry and vegetables to sell to the rebel 
soldiers ; but the officers forbade them selling or 
trading any with the prisoners. We were all 
the time expecting a train to come for us, but 
none came, and at noon they told us we were to 
go back into the stockade, to wait for transjDor- 
tation. At one o'clock they gave us each half 
a pint of cooked rice, and five or six ounces of 



com bretid. These were tlie first rations we liad 
drawn in two days. At two o'clock they took 
us hack to the stockade. This half mile was 
the saddest journey of my whole life. In the 
prison we saAv only death hefore us; if we 
could get to the station ^ve were promised lib- 
erty. IIow I felt the truth of the old proverb : 
" IIo])e deferred maketh the heart sick." I would 
rather have died than go back into the stockade. 
I felt that our Government cared nothing for 
us; I thought we were forsaken by God and 
man. IIo\v I got back into the stockade I 
hardly know, but when I saw the gates closed 
upon me, I felt as if immured in a living tomb ; 
and the sentries seemed like evil spirits set to 
watch us in our misery, and prevent us from es- 
caping to the outer world. How often, during 
those long, dark days, did I think of tlie follow- 
ing lines from the pen of Mrs. llemans: 

"I dream of" all tilings free! of a gallant gallant bark, 
That sweeps through storm and sea, like an arrow to its 

mark ; 
Of a stag that o'er the hills goes hounding in its glee; 
Of a thousand tlasiiing I'ills, — of all things glad and free. 
I dream of some proud bird; of a bright-eyed mountain 

king; 
In my visions I liave heard the rushing of his wing. 



71 

T follow some wild river, on whose })renst no sail may be; 
l);iik woods around it shiver, — T dream of all things free. 
Of a happy forest child, with the fawns and ilowers at 

Of an Indian midst the wild, with the stars to guide his 

way ; 
Of a chief, his warriors leading; of an archer's green 

wood tree; 
My heart in chains is bleeding, and I dream of all things 

free." 

Tuesday evening, September 27tli, we were 
ordered into line. About eiglit Inuidred men 
were taken out, but our detachment was not in- 
chided. Wednesday evening we were again 
ordered into line, and tliis time our detachment 
Avas taken. Many of the men, like myself, were 
so weak they could scarcely walk; still M(\ did 
not like to stay behind onr detachments, for if 
we remained we would be taken to the sIkmIs. 
I went out with the rest, and, with the lielj) of 
my comrade, succeeded in getting to the station. 

We were halted in front of General Winder's 
headquarters to be counted, and vvlien ordered 
forward, one of the men failing to keep liis place 
in the ranks, was knocked down and kicked to 
the side of the road by Captain Wirz, 

We marched to the station and found a train 



72 

waiting for us. In tlie cars were two days' ra- 
tions, consisting of about one pound of corn 
bread, and four ounces of bacon for each man. 
About midniglit we started for Sav^annab. 

Next day (29tb,) between Millen and Savan- 
nah, we found eight locomotives and about sixty 
cars, loaded with refugees from Atlanta. Whole 
families were together, having beds in the cars, 
and cooking at camp-fires near the track. We 
arrived at Savannah about dark, and were taken 
into a stockade a short distance from the station. 
This stockade was built of plank, and contained 
about five acres. The camj? was guarded in the 
same manner as at Anderson ville, having sen- 
try-boxes so arranged that the guards could 
overlook the prison. 

Our rations were some better than at Ander- 
sonville, and five out of every hundred men 
were allowed to attend sick-call once a day, and 
as there were only about twenty-five per cent, of 
the men on the sick list, we could see the doc- 
tors every three or four days. 

Here, too, on Sunday mornings, we could 
hear the chiming of the bells, reminding us of 
our own native village, the Church and the 
Sabbath School; and although we were con- 



73 

fined in prison in an enemy's country, our spirits 
still clung to tlie recollections of the olden time. 

The citizens of Savannali knowdng of our 
destitute condition, adopted measures to relieve 
our sufferings. They offered to furnisli us a 
su23ply of clothing, but the officers in command 
would not allow it to come into the prison. 

This was in the first part of October, and the 
nights were very cold. We all suffered a great 
deal from this cause, and many were chilled to 
death. On the morning of the ninth, five men 
were found who had died of cold the preceding 
night; and on the morning of the 10th, eight 
were found to have died from the same cause. 
Many, also, who escaped death contracted scur- 
vy, paralysis, stiffness of the joints, and many 
other diseases from which they will never re- 
cover. 

During our stay in Savannah, the rebels hired 
all kinds of mechanics to go out and work for 
them. All men who had trades and were will- 
ing to work for them were employed. They 
were required to take an oath not to return to 
the federal lines until the close of the war, also 
that they would work faithfully for the Con- 
federacy, and not attempt to escape; and in 



74 

consideration of tlie fiiMllraent of said oatli they 
were to receive their board and three dollars 
per day in rebel money. There were some who 
accepted these terms, but the majority of the 
prisoners refused. The question which arose in 
the minds of thousands was: "Is it lawful for 
me to work for the Confederacy?" — and under 
ordinary circumstances the answer would invari- 
ably be : " No." Then another question : " Is it 
lawful for the United States to leave us here to 
perish with cold and hunger, when they have 
the power to redeem us? Has not the Govern- 
ment first broken the bond of mutual protection 
existing between us ? And if that bond of mu- 
tual protection be first broken by the United 
States, does justice demand a fulfillment on our 
part, even unto death ? No, it cannot." Thus 
reasoned thousands of prisoners, yet, out of ut- 
ter detestation of the rebels and their cause, 
they remained in prison, preferring to die than 
lift a hand, even indirectly, against the Ameri- 
can flag. 

Here, too, as in Andersonville, camp reports 
were in constant circulation. On Sunday, the 
2d of October, not a churcli-])ell was rung, and 
it was reported that General Grant had taken 



75 

Richmond and forty thousand prisoners. On 
the 4th an immediate exchange was reported, 
and on the 6th, the exchange was contradicted 
by some who affirmed that- there was a new 
stockade building for us, which proved to be 
true. On the 10th they commenced removing 
the prisoners, and on the 12th our detachment 
was taken to the station, placed in the cars, and 
at dark started for Millen, which is seventy-eight 
miles from Savannah, on the Augusta raiboad. 

While we were waiting for the train to start, 
a little boy came toward us, having a loaf of 
bread which his mother had sent him to give to 
the prisoners, but the officer of the guard would 
not allow him to put it in the car. Just then a 
colored man stepped up, took the loaf from the 
boy, and threw it into one of the cars to the 
prisoners. This enraged the officer of the guard, 
and he had the negro arrested and taken away 
by a tile of soldiers. "We arrived at Millen at 
one o'clock that night, and in the morning were 
sent into the stockade. 

The formation of this stockade, the sentry- 
boxes, and the dead-line, were the same as at 
Andersonville, but it was a much larger and 
nicer prison. It contained forty-two acres, and 

4 



76 

througli the center ran a large brook of good 
water. The place selected for a prison had been 
a dense pine forest, and the trees, except those 
near the brook, had all been cut down. Large 
quantities of this timber had been used to build 
the stockade, and a great deal still remained; 
but it was in such a shape that we could not use 
it in an economical way. I spent three whole 
days trying to trade a gold ring for an axe, but 
the guards would not trade, and the negroes had 
no opportunity. 

Our rations were very small, consisting mostly 
of beans and a small quantity of meat. We 
had no protection from the weather, except such 
as we ourselves could provide. On arri\dng at 
MiUen my comrade and I had joined with two 
others who had one blanket and an old piece of 
quilt. We dug a hole in the ground about two 
feet deep and six feet square ; we then banked 
it up about two feet, and covered it with one 
blanket. This was our tent ; it was about fom- 
feet high, and just large enough for four to lie 
down. We generally put the piece of quilt up 
at one end of the tent to keep out the wind and 
ram. Our clothes were old and ragged, but we 
could not procure new ones, or even thread to 



11 

mend our old ones, and tlie fall rains came on 
with cold winds, making it impossible for us to 
keep warm or dry. Often in cold storms we 
would put up om' extra blanket to keep out tke 
rain, build a little fire in one corner of tlie 
tent, and tlien sit for tours together shivering 
with the cold, and half suffocating with the 
smoke. 

After the detachments had all left Savannah, 
the sick who I'emained were all taken to Milieu 
and sent into the stockade. They were placed 
near the gate, and some well men detailed as 
nurses to take care of them. But their rations 
were even smaller than those issued to the men 
in the detachments, and they received no medi- 
cal attendance whatever. If we had been al- 
lowed medical attendance, many of the men who 
died might easily have been saved; but I do 
not believe one ounce of medicine Avas ever 
given to the sick at Millen. 

Before the dead were carried out of the stock- 
ade, their clothing was generally taken off by 
those of the living who were poorest clad ; and 
in this way, many of the living who were nearly 
naked procured a small supply of clothing. 

My condition at this time was truly deplorable. 



78 

I had not been well for some time before leav- 
ing Andersonville. My back was very lame, 
and my lower liml)S had become so far para- 
lyzed as to contain scarcely strength to carry 
me, and l^nt little feeling. On my left knee 
was a sore as large as the palm of my hand, and 
I had no remedy to aj^ply, nor even a strip of 
cloth with which to bandage it. In the latter 
part of October, I entirely lost the use of my 
lower limbs. For several days after I could not 
get on my feet, I could crawl on my hands and 
knees; but not till my strength had failed me, 
so that I had not power to crawl, did I fully re- 
alize the extent of my helplessness and misery. 
I have got on my hands and knees and tried to 
cra^yl, but had not power to draw my knees af- 
ter me, and would fall down exhausted mth the 
effort, and unable to move from the place ^s^here 
I lay. On the 28th of October I stood on my 
feet for the last time, and from that time until 
my release, (the 19th of November,) I was in 
prison in this helpless condition. After I be- 
came unable to walk, my hips became sore from 
lying in the sand. There was a raw sore on 
each of my hips as large as a common saucer, 
and my right knee also l^ecame a running sore. 



79 

I was almost dead, and undoubtedly should have 
died, had it not been for the kindness of one of 
my comrades, Corjioral George Riber, of Com- 
pany C, 2d Regiment N. Y. Mounted Rifles, who 
drew our rations together, prepared them to- 
gether, and during the three weeks that I was 
not able to leave our tent, took care of me with 
all the tenderness of a father or brother. God 
bless my faithful comrade; may he live a hun- 
dred years, and every day of his life be happy. 

I gave the ring that I had to my comrade, 
and he traded it to one of the guards for eight 
quarts of meal, which we also shared together. 

In the early part of November, the rebels 
opened a recruiting office near the gate, and 
offered a large bounty in Confederate money, 
and two husliels of sweet potatoes, to every maa 
who would enlist. They adopted this ]3lan to 
increase their army ; and to compel the men to 
enlist in their ranks, they reduced our rations, 
hoping to oblige us to renounce our Government 
through want of food. They obtained some re- 
cruits, but the majority of the men rejected all 
their offers. 

The 8th of November being election day at the 
North, the prisoners decided to take a vote of 



80 

the camp for President. The quarter-master 
told lis that if we would give McClellan a ma- 
jority, he would give us double rations that day; 
but, upon counting the votes, it was annouced 
that Lincoln had received a majority of nine 
hundred and sixty-four. Our rations were not 
doubled. 

On the 10th, rebel papers stated that there 
was to be an immediate exchange of ten thou- 
sand sick prisoners; but we had been fooled so 
often that we did not believe it. On the 11th, 
a call was published in a Savannah paper for 
the citizens of the suiTounding country to come 
to Savannah the week following, and bring lux- 
uries for the soldiers who were to arrive from 
Northern prisons. Now we were convinced that 
there was to be an exchange, and on the 13th, 
the Doctor came into the prison, and took the 
names of seventy-five of the worst cases out of 
every thousand, for exchange. When he called 
for the sick of our detachment, my comrades 
carried me out of our little tent, that he might 
see me, and he took my name. 

The station was about half a mile from the 
stockade, and the prisoners were taken out in 
the following manner. Rel^el ofiicers stood in- 



81 

side the gate, and called the names of the men 
who were to go out. As each man's name was 
called, he gave his rank, company and regiment, 
and if the answer corresponded with the record 
in the officer's hands, he was allowed to pass out. 

Then, if he could, he must walk to the sta- 
tion ; if not, he was placed in a wagon or ambu- 
lance, and carried there. 

On the 15th of November I was taken, with 
about one thousand others, to the station, to be 
sent to Savannah. No train came for us that 
day, and at night they gave each of the men a 
little half-cooked rice, and a raw sweet potatoe ; 
but I was unable to get to the place where they 
were given out, and so lost mine. The night 
was very cold, and the officer of the guard, being 
a very kind hearted man, caused fires to be 
built^ and those who could not walk, to be placed 
around them. 

I still had a gold watch-key, one given me on 
leaving home, — which I had hoped to retain, 
but the desire for food overcame the wish to 
keep the token, and I gave it to a rebel lieuten- 
ant for twenty-four sweet potatoes, Som@ of 
them I gave to those who had none, and the 



82 

remainder I roasted in the hot sand and ashes, 
eating some, and reserving a share for the 
future. 

Next morning, no train having arrived for us, 
we ^vere again sent back into the stockade ; and 
although the rebels assured ns that we were to 
be sent as soon as transjDortation could be fur- 
nished, we thought we were again fooled. 

This day we drew no rations, and I appreci- 
ated my potatoes. On the morning of the 18th, 
we were again taken to the station, and at noon 
placed in the cars. We now drew two da^'^s' 
rations, — the last issued to us in the Confederacy. 
They consisted of about one bushel of raw sweet 
potatoes, ten pounds of boiled beef, and six 
small loaves of wheat bread, for iifty-five men. 

Starting at dark, we arrived in Savannah 
early the next morning, and as fast as possible 
were transferred to a transport. The only hos- 
pitality shown us while in the South was while 
passing from the cars to the transport. Num- 
bers of women, both white and colored, brought 
us water to drink, wheat bread, and such other 
things as they could provide. 

After the men were all on board the trans- 



83 

port, we were taken about twelve miles down 
the Savannah River, where we met the United 
States transports, bearing aloft the Stars and 
Stripes, — the banner of liberty, the flag of the 
free ; and those very transports seemed dressed 
in holiday attire, with their corps of nurses 
dressed in bright blue uniforms, passing to and 
fro along the decks. Yes, we beheld all this, 
and the Spirit of Liberty seemed once more to 
breathe upon us, and shout after shout of wel- 
come arose from our feeble ranks. I shall ever 
remember the 19tli of November, 1864, as one 
of the happiest days of my life. 

But how many fond hearts are there through- 
out the loyal States, who have watched and 
waited, but in vain, for the return of their loved 
ones. How anxiously have they waited for the 
day when a husband, father, Ijrother or son 
should return to reanimate the once happy cii'- 
cle. But he comes not again; and to the be- 
reaved I would say, look not upon them as lost, 
but transferred from earth to a fairer clime, 
where the weary are at rest, — where the soldier 
forever casts aside his armor, and the prisoner 
is free. And in this be ye comforted: they 
died to protect the flag which was givem us by 



.84 

our fathers, and that this gift miglit, without 
spot or blemish, be transmitted to generations 
to come. 



Nearly two years have passed away since my 
release from Southern captivity,-— two years of 
varied hopes and disapj)ointments, after which 
time I find myself in no better state of health 
than when I was released. I have been treated 
by men of high standing in the medical pro- 
fession, but find no relief. Still I am not 
discouraged ; I patiently accept the dealing of 
Providence, believing that God is good, and all 
is for the best. 



MY MIDNIGHT REVERIE. 

It was midnight, and the watches 

Of the night crept slowly by, 
And the night-wind through the branches 

Breathed a melancholy sigh; — 
Through the branches of the maj)les, 

Where all summer long were seen 
The robin and the blue bird 

And the foliage of green. 



85 



Now the robin and the blue bird 

To the south have sped away ; 
Now the bright green leaves have fallen, 

And are mouldering to decay. 
And I lie upon my sick-bed, 

In the midnight's solemn hour, 
Thinking of the faded foliage 

And of autumn's leafless bower. 

And in vain my soul sought slumber, — 

Slumber from my couch had fled, 
And strange thoughts, yet full of meaning, 

Crowded through my aching head. 
Yes, in vain my soul sought slumber, 

As I lay upon my bed, 
As the night-wind through the maples 

Sung a requiem for the dead. 

For the dead who nobly perished 

On the Southern battle-plain. 
That our flag might float in triumph 

Over every State again. 
These brave men could give their life-blood 

Freely out upon the plain. 
But they could not see our banner 

Torn by traitors in disdain. 

And they perished like true heroes ; 

Yes, their blood Avas freely given 
That the Stars and Stripes might proudly 

Float on every breeze of heaven. 
And that task has been accomplished, 

Although many brave men fell. 
In the battle, in the hospital 

And in the prison cell. 



86 



Yes, our flag now waves iu triumph 

Over every State and town, 
And may palsied be the arm 

That e'er again would tear it down. 
Now the "cruel war" is over, 

Those Avho have survived the blast 
Will si)end many a leisure hour 

Thinking of the eventful past. 

Thus I sj)end the midnight hour, 

Thinking of the days gone by. 
And I often try in vain 

To check the rising of a sigh. 
Oh, I sigh for health, the blessing 

Once possessed, but mine no more ; 
Mine no more until I reach 

The ever bright and glorious shore. 

Reach the land where sickness, sorrow, 

Pain and death, are never known. 
Where we all shall bow in gladness 

Round the King upon the throne. 
Then these limbs, now so inactive, 

Will be active as of yore 
Then I'll roam in joy and gladness 

O'er bright plains, for evermore. 



WiLLiNK, Dec. 1st, 1866. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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